


trapdoors that open, I spiral down

by mixture



Category: X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: Abuse, Addiction, Alternate Universe - Still Have Powers, Alternate Universe - Vampire, Captivity, Dark!Charles, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-22
Updated: 2012-07-22
Packaged: 2017-11-10 11:11:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,877
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/465605
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mixture/pseuds/mixture
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It’s hard to predict an enemy who can put a knife between one’s ribs without being noticed.</p>
            </blockquote>





	trapdoors that open, I spiral down

**Author's Note:**

> This story modified itself from when I originally typed the outline to the finished product, and I don't know how I feel about that. In response to [this](http://xmen-firstkink.livejournal.com/8700.html?thread=19523836#t19523836) kink meme prompt. Title from Radiohead's _In Limbo_.

Erik finds that his memory flickers in ways he’s never experienced before, as if he is unable to trust the fact that he does indeed exist as an individual over a span of time. Things are splintered and fragmented if he tries to focus on anything other than his environment in the present, though—

There isn’t much to grasp onto, other than knowing the time and energy he’s invested in hunting fiends. The feeling rings true; pouring over information, talking to contacts, focusing his powers as he cleaned his weapons… he knows that these thoughts are real and something he’s experienced, but they feel as if he were watching them, as if they were a projection instead of his history.

The things that he can remember feel enough, but he forces himself to dig further, to search for things he knows should exist, but resemble something like a wound. There’s emptiness where candles burn and the weight of another’s hand inside of his own lingers in his peripherals. The memories feel as if they’ve been wiped away, worn down like marble steps over time, with a painful sharpness that’s hard to avoid when he recalls the reason for the present.

The impression of his powers being snapped off as soon as he spotted Xavier in the city, the weight of the blade in his hand, heavier than he’s ever recalled it being. The distinct force of Xavier’s gaze and presence, even though Erik had the upper hand, physically.

He feels as if there are parts of himself that have been walled off, yet the only walls he’s certain of are the four that cage him in. He can’t help but to focus on the one with the door, because of the wall to ceiling mirror that’s installed next to it. He knows that he’s being watched, though he can’t confirm it by casting out his power like he normally would. Xavier’s taken it away somehow, but yet Erik’s not sure of who watches, because—

His instincts feel as if they’re turning into an unhealthy paranoia, but he knows of Xavier’s hand in this entire situation. It’s hard to predict an enemy who can put a knife between one’s ribs without being noticed, and his hand has already been shown with the sudden appearance of drink with the blink of Erik’s eyes. With small marks appearing and disappearing around his most prominent veins. With the fact that he can’t remember anything solid other than trying to kill Xavier and existing in a cell. 

Erik can’t even recall sleeping, eating, or using the bathroom, though he feels well rested and empty… There’s neither bed nor toilet in his cell, even if he needed them.

Despite being unable to grasp the idea of time in his prison, he holds out the best he can against whatever Xavier gives him to consume; he tries to recall the first time he’s seen anything in his prison, even if he’s unsure as to where it rests in his timeline. There was a small glass of blood, and Erik knew where it came from, or at least that Xavier explicitly wanted him to consume it.

He pushes the thought away, though he swears that something feels off—at least more than what makes up his life. A sensation flutters around his temple and he swats at it, only for his prison to shift into a much warmer room, and a hand to squeeze his wrist.

Erik stares at Xavier in a shock that feels unnatural and wrong, as an image is pushed into his mind. Xavier was watching him with a disturbingly strong focus, as Erik appeared to be asleep. “I was wondering how long it would take you to pull yourself out of it, you know.”

He tries to notice his surroundings – a fire blazing away in the fireplace to his left, the bookshelves lining the wall, large windows and the couch he’s sitting on – but Xavier tugs on his arm and Erik cries out—

There were plenty of needle marks on his arms like he remembered, but there were also cuts along his forearm, as if someone had used his body as a scratching post. “That’d be you, my dear,” Xavier’s voice is in his head and it’s as sharp as the pain, as sharp as being manhandled to a position in which Xavier can lap at the half-healed wounds, “You’re as vulnerable as any other human when it comes to vampiric blood. I commend you on your strength, however, since there was always some part of you trying to resist it.”

But it wasn’t enough and it seemed like he had only made it more convenient for Xavier to feed off of him.

Erik was quickly pulled out of his thoughts by a tug on his arm, and as soon as he felt teeth against his abused flesh, he lashed out. The anger he was so used to expending felt distant, almost like his memories from earlier, but it didn’t stop him from swinging a fist towards Xavier’s ear—

It didn’t connect, but he felt the shift from sitting on the couch to being thrown to the ground from someone with superior strength. Erik scrambled back to his feet and tried to break through to his powers, for anything, but his knees were kicked out from underneath him, and he fell hard once more.

The pain suddenly doubles, and Erik finds himself leaning over on all fours, his head hanging down. He knows that Xavier’s pushing on his discomfort, pushing him into these poses and it makes him want to snarl as he hears the vampire’s pleased chuckle. “As much as you loathe me, my friend, you’re going through withdrawal. I would ask you as to how you haven’t noticed it on your own,” Xavier’s walking around him, and he can’t move, “but I know precisely why you’re having such… difficulties.”

A kick connects to his chest and he cries out, able to roll over to his side. Xavier is controlling his actions in a way that feels intrusive, cutting past the pain and causing a sort of nausea in its stead—

“Do you know how handsome you are, Erik? How sweet you taste?”

Xavier uses his foot to guide him to his back, and straddles his thighs, and the contact makes him angrier than the violence. It clears his mind in a way that feels like a fresh breeze, as if he had finally broke through the vampire’s influence. “You are an abomination,” the words are awkward and thick on his tongue, “You need to be put down like the dog you are.” 

The snarl he gets in response feels as if he’s being immersed in cold water. “Would that make you my bitch if I were to keep you to rut against? I’ve made you kneel already, just a few minutes ago.”

Erik tries to respond, grasping onto the anger that keeps him lucid, but Xavier keeps him quiet and still as he inspects Erik’s body. It’s better than the emptiness he had been put under, but Xavier projects a smugness that makes him uneasy, that was hard to detect before.

He knows he’s the prey, and there’s no longer a mental disconnect to distract him with. There’s no way to ignore how pleased and aroused the vampire is. “It would be so easy to make you a slut for my cock. To make you feel like my cum is as satisfying as my blood.

“I wonder if you’d be desperate enough to bring me humans to feed off of, or would you bleed them dry for me? Your power could assist spectacularly with either.”

Erik wants to retch as Xavier presses images into his mind; naked and bruised, wordlessly begging for attention – for anything – metal flowing around his neck, but not of his volition, holding himself open so that Xavier can thrust into him—

… Using his weapons to kill any hunter that comes into Xavier’s city, bringing blood and souvenirs back like cats bringing dead mice to their owners—

Xavier shoves him back into the white-walled frame of mind, and the only thing he knows is overwhelming pain. Nothing feels real other than the weight on his body. “I’m keeping you from the worst of it, if you can imagine,” Xavier says as he brings his own arm up to his lips, “I want to give you as much of a choice as you can have, though I would prefer if you would take what I have to offer.”

Erik feels the familiar weight of his power return as Xavier scoots further up his body, though there’s none of his will behind it. It is as if it had focused on the threat he’s focused on…

Which is the blood that wells up from the cut on Xavier’s wrist.

“I know you can feel it, my friend,” and he does, well before Xavier offers his body in such a way, before blood paints his lips. Erik can’t help but to open his mouth, and the blood tastes as wonderful as it feels, slotting into familiar places as he presses forward, chasing it with his tongue, lifting his hands up to cradle the vampire’s forearm—

But everything in that reality was an illusion, because he’s bruised and battered in one of the many alleyways in the city, suckling from Xavier’s wrist, unable to stop. The flicker causes him to wince, but he can’t stop drinking, almost as if the conditioning in the alternate reality that fits so snug against his real memories were just as real as those memories.

“Perhaps that construction was a bit too much, but I can’t argue with the results.”

Erik wants to call on his power, get a weapon in his hand, but all he can do is dig his nails into the flesh he grips. And Xavier gives him that, though, he can’t recall precisely why he should be angry.

It’s like receiving a precious gift; something that he’s went without for so long. The euphoria, the relief is enough to make him shiver, though he lets go when Xavier pulls his wrist away. “How do you feel, dear?”

Erik blinks, and wonders why he’s sitting on the ground, back against the brick. It’s almost as if he fainted, but he can’t think of why he would. Charles is very much himself with his slacks, button down and cardigan, watching with a slight crease in his brow. 

“I’m fine,” Erik grunts as he pushes himself off of the ground, flicking his power out in a pulse to account for all of his weapons, “Did you feed already?” 

Charles brushes the dust off of his clothing as he sets it straight, and gives a small smile that makes something clench inside of him. “No, but I think we should go home. Don’t want to stay out too late if you’re not feeling well, and I can always just take a bit from you. That is, if you’re up to it?”

“That’s fine.”

It feels right to stand next to Charles, and reach out to hold his hand as they head to the car, a perfect fit for his own, however sweaty he may be.


End file.
